


The Chase

by Glinda



Category: Neverwhere
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glinda/pseuds/Glinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One last hunt and then peace, that deal she will gladly take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'running' at [](http://overlooked.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**overlooked**](http://overlooked.dreamwidth.org/).

Very few people have ever seen Hunter run and most of those have never lived to tell the tale. There are plenty who have seen her hurry, her steps quick and nimble, her voice sharp and urging them on, and a few who have seen her charge, but her days of open battle are behind her, she prefers to hunt particular targets now. She prefers prey that needs to be stalked, not chased down these days and if a charge is required it is short and to the point, and not one that anyone else sees.

In Hunter's dreams she runs. Perhaps they are more memories than dreams but they come when she sleeps so she calls them dreams. In these dreams she hones her craft, chasing down all sorts of animals, across Steppe, Tundra and Veldt, places she hasn't been in centuries. Blood pounding and legs pumping, wide open skies and learning the best way to kill with knife or spear. She is a creature of cities now, she stalks tunnels and is an expert on identifying whatever lurks in that particular torchlit shadow; she rarely sees the sky now and doesn't particularly miss the stars. On occasion she has bad dreams, pursued through tunnels by some beast she has yet to kill, always just out of sight and just about to catch her. They disturb her more because she has forgotten panic in her waking life. She doesn't even bother to cause it in others – it causes irrational behaviour that is rarely of use – bypassing it in favour of naked fear which she can at least use. In her waking life she walks calm and dignified into danger, sometimes creeping and sneaking when gathering intel so she can safely retreat, regroup and fight better next time. Panic is loss of control; she will not allow it. She will kill the beast and with it the lurking fear, just as she has a dozen times before.

Hunter wakes to cold light. The ground under her is hard and the wind whips dust around her like sand or snow though it is neither. The landscape is more barren than any she encountered while alive, like unto a frozen desert, this place is further away than any other she has travelled. On standing she observes three figures not far away, two of them leading the third towards her. She recognises them and nods with satisfaction – now that the Beast of London below is gone Hunter finds herself able to afford Islington's plans some care and finds she does not care for them at all. The Lady Door has kept her head then, and done her job well. Hunter had her doubts about young Richard but he has the potential to make a good champion for Door if she can be the steady hand he needs. They both have a great deal of potential, given luck and good judgement, they might even have enough time to grow into their roles and partnership, as Hunter and Serpentine had long before.

As far away as Door could manage, half-way across space and time. A shame that it wouldn't be enough, but then that was why Hunter was here. The knowledge fills her head with certainty: one last hunt. Slowly a smile spreads over her face, she's never hunted an angel before, wings will make a new and interesting challenge, supposing he remembers how to use them. One last hunt and then peace, that deal she will gladly take.

“A piece of advice for you, dear former employer of ours,” comments Croup.

“Run. Run for your life!” crows Vandemar in delight.

Hunter lets her smile go feral and it is that rather than Croup and Vandemar's theatrics that gets him to run finally. Her kind aren't feral. They're the epitome of control and skill, professionals to the core and they still look up to her and aspire to be like her for reason. Even when her obsession with the beast was beginning to consume her, only a very few could tell. She is always utterly in control. But just this once she will indulge a little feral behaviour. She lets him put some distance between them and then takes off in pursuit of her quarry. Running won't win this battle but like that feral streak it has its uses. There's a time for stalking and creeping, and now is the time for running full pelt with the wind in your face. For now there is only the chase. She can hear the pounding of blood in her ears and of her feet against the ground, even breaths and the steadily decreasing distance between her and her quarry.

She runs.  



End file.
